Broken Crown
by Corrupted Champion
Summary: In the wake of a Terrorist attack in Manhattan, the team is called to D.C. by the division of deep cover operations to prevent the next one before more lives are lost. Will they succeed?
1. Chapter 1

I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country

Nathan Hale

**Penn Station, Midtown Manhattan **

It started as just another ordinary day for the Penn station as the diverse population walks around like tides in an ocean. All the voices talking and various electronic devices going off with music players and phones in their hands.

"Where the fuck is he?" Silas Odin coarsely curses to himself while waiting on a bench at the center. He loathed being here. The sounds, the noises, they were so annoying. He liked being around, and talking with, people, but not like this. Now he wanted to tear out his ear drums and smash them on the ground just so he wouldn't have to hear the vexation ruckus that this hoard of oaf and imbeciles consistently make. "He better get here soon, I'm dying here."

A sudden quiver in his pocket alerts him to the phone getting a text message and it says: we need to talk. That gave Silas the perfect excuse to leave the den of noise and finally get some quiet in one of the more silent quarters.

"Where are you Jack?" Silas questioned his colleague over the phone. "You were-supposed to-be here hours ago?"

Jack was coming from Virginia—Richmond to be more precise—to meet up with Silas and discuss the situation happening in D.C. only things must have undergone a metamorphoses for the worse seeing as how he's late.

"Silas, I'm blown!"

_Oh fuck_, Silas thought as he heard those words bounce back to him. "Please tell me you didn't go supple on them and sell me down the river."

Jack on the other side of this talk sounded in pain. For all Silas knew whoever found out could be preparing to erect him on a gibbet or make him into another Nathan Hale and leave him swinging on a tree.

"Conrad stopped me before I could get on my flight. They know there's a naked mole in their midst and they tried pushing me for information. I think he's following me and sent someone to look for you. You need to get the hell out of dodge." then the line cuts-off.

Silas had no way to know what was going to happen.

No one comprehended what was occurring next as a backpack left in the Manhattan subway station was suddenly making the sound of spraying air, releasing something sinister into the oxygen of the air.

Men and women alike were collapsing on the ground spasmodically as they slowly start to foam at the mouth and nose while vainly struggle and gasp for a breath of fresh air. It was a horrid sight. These people were the father, mother, son, daughter, brother, or sister to someone out there and their lives were being snuffed-out slowly and cruelly.

Silas overhears the shrill as screams and screeches echo through the hall, as he stood looking over his phone with a confused expression that quickly turned to horror as he rushed to find the source of the noise. He came upon the fringes to the sight of the massacre, as the victims had ceased their ungainly movements and remained lifelessly still on the cold hard ground.

If Silas had not been so far away from the scene and taken so long to get there, he too would have joined them in this mass of corpses that reminded him of the victims to the Black Death, only no children would be inspired to make up some catchy tune to sing and dance around with.

It may have been a strange coincidence of luck, but he certainly doesn't feel lucky.

**Behavior Analysis Unit Headquarters **

**Quantico Virginia**

**Two Weeks Later**

It was a little after eight in the morning when Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner was working at his desk dealing with a heap of paper work left for him.

For the last few weeks he's been put through nine kinds of a paper Hell with the changes in the bureau since a series of piecemeal terrorist attacks that have happened. It was not like he was the only one who did. Morgan, Reid, J.J., Prentiss do the same but he always feels like he gets the bulk of a paper horde. Aaron would prefer being home with Jack or spending time with his girlfriend, but he was a FBI agent and this is the life he chose so he would just have to lay in the bed he's made.

David Rossi was soon joining him in the compact office to talk about a recent case file Garcia was showing him. Nuzzling in the chair across the desk, Rossi asks "Have you read this yet?"

"Yes I have, Rossi." Hotchner gives his colleague the professional candid stare and sullen personality he always uses during work. "I've read it again and again, and again. DCO wants our help on this one and it's become priority number one for most of the Bureau. We don't have much of a choice David."

It's not going on the job that has the Italian-American warily of touching this perilous case; it was the Patriots that have David Rossi so reproached, Aaron knew that without question. They were a terrorist organization behind incidents of bombings and nerve gas release. And that was just the icing on the cake. What's promised to come can only be worse.

"Why does Martin need us there?" David protests more curious about why the Deep Cover Operations wants their help, "He already has a Counter-terrorism team helping him with half-a-dozen agents and other agencies clawing at the case."

"Getting cold feet?" Aaron asks with the hint of a friendly caricature. David nods his head "No, of course not." He says with a rueful smile. Touching the black hair around his mouth, David was starting to change back to a more relaxed posture in the chair. "Martin Templar's just never been the easiest one to work with."

"Truer words were never spoken."

Templar, the leader to the FBI's division of assets inserted within foreign or domestic criminal organizations, had worked with both Hotchner and Rossi in the past and they both found him cooperative but only when it doesn't compromise one of his people. The last few times he nearly got Rossi killed when one of his people turned out to-be a double agent.

"But David, there may be an imminent attack on U.S. soil again; this can not keep happening—even if it means working with Templar. This is of the most urgency."

Nodding his head in agreement, David says "I understand. I do not like, but I understand."

Emily Prentiss was ascending to their level as they were having this idle chitchat. Her head was ringing like a bell while composing herself in the elevator and only J.J., her best friend, for company in the square compact space.

"Oh my head is killing me." Emily complains.

"I told you not to drink so many shots," J.J. reminds of the admonishment the night before while watching Emily rub her throbbing head in an endless motion. "Tequila never bodes well with you. Remember Vegas?"

"Don't remind me."

J.J. held off her need to make chortles. Even the slightest snigger gave Prentiss an overwhelming tremor of a headache. For her to laugh now would give birth to one equal to an erupting volcano. The medication taken for the headache was still delayed but it would work soon—it had to or Emily would suffer hell on earth from the many sounds in the office.

It was a miracle she was not lurching.

When Jennifer and Derek found last night, practically trying to drown her own sorrows, the gradual amount of alcohol she had consumed could have possibly been enough to expand her girth if the drinks had been junk food or energy drinks.

"Is this going to-be a recurring thing with you?" J.J. continues to grow more concerned with Emily's continued loneliness in the wake of her turning down the Interpol offer in England. "Cause this is not a healthy way to end your nights."

"I know, I know." Emily responds half-dazed unperturbed. She had thought the idea that she may never find that one special person was growing on her and was getting used to it, yet it never stopped her in the night clubs from trying. "I didn't plan on it."

Finally the elevator door opens. The two women had reached their floor. Employees were tracking around the large office area lugging papers and files to-be signed in a system or rapid movement in cohesion like a well oiled machine. Agents were the only people sitting down—they're the poor bastards who have to sign all those papers. Emily and J.J. both see Derek Morgan and Spencer Reid had already arrived, sitting at their desks that have a lower view to Aaron and David's separate offices like a favelas do a towering corporate building.

"You look terrible." Derek said frankly as he and the boy genius see Emily as she and J.J. walk up looking like crap. Emily makes a face combined of insulted and slightly annoyed. "Not to sound mean or anything, but you look like they just brought you back from a dungeon."

"And yet somehow he has a girlfriend." Emily looks over at J.J. with her sarcastic words.

Derek would have apologized but Prentiss stops him. Showing that there were no hard feelings she takes a seat before Garcia calls them all to the round table of the conference room.

"Hello my lovelies; hope you're ready for America's Rome." Garcia stated with her usual quirky attitude.

"We're going to D.C.?" J.J. asked and Emily craned her head over a file she was given. She answers the question herself. "We're going after the patriots?"

"Indeed." Rossi curtly confirmed it, not attempting to sheath his own contempt for it. Emily could understand the feeling though. Her knowledge was vaguer, but she had heard of the accentuated Patriots—or the True Patriots as they referred to themselves—through some of the agents in the DCO she was friends with Emily knew of their activities in the States.

They've claimed responsibility for VX attacks in Los Angeles and recently in Manhattan with some bombings in Texas. There was also a dead undercover, Jack Griffin, found close by in their neighbor of Richmond. These people knew no boundaries; they transcend any notions of good or evil.

"With two terrorist attacks and one of our own dead, their just now calling us in?" Morgan asks, expecting this aggravating incompetence from small-town police forces but not from the FBI who are supposed to know what their doing. Their agency is supposed to be more effective than this and instead they were acting just as bad. "We have officially hit rock bottom."

"Not the complete bottom—yet." Aaron spoke up. "They were hoping to capture the Unsub to prevent further attacks but now they've grown concerned there's a leak and they want everyone and every resource available to help stop this next terrorist attack before it ends like Los Angeles or Penn Station."

"How do they know there's going to-be another attack?" Derek looks over to ask and Hotchner replies back "Their other agent on the inside, Jon Sinclair, discovered the plan before the Manhattan attack and alerted them."

Looking up, Emily asks "When are we leaving?"

"Now."

* * *

**A/N: It took me some time but I finally finished it. Hope Everything was put together perfectly. Also if you've watched TNT's Legends some of the inspiration from this story like DCO comes from it.**


	2. Chapter 2

**MPDC Police Department**

**Washington D.C.**

The Team arrived to the Henry J. Daly building after their plane made port in the state. Agent Templar meets them at the station, greeting them and Rossi being warily distant as if he was as likely to shoot him. Emily and J.J. thought it funny, so did Spencer and Derek, how the big bad David Rossi was so worried about one man, and a fellow agent none the less.

"Everyone: this Martin Templar, director of the FBI's DCO task force." Aaron announced to them before Martin shook hands with each of them. He then says once their done "It's good to finally meet you all. I've heard of your work."

Martin looked old-fashioned; left over from the days of Kennedy or the Reagan administration and had seen his fair share of troubles like what they faced now.

"So what's been happening, Martin," David spoke up, "Your report wasn't exactly specific of what the plan is or what's been done to stop the bodies frim piling up."

Looking over his shoulder, with paranoia gripping him, Martin makes sure none of the officers are coming then he looks back over to clarify. "I never got the chance to send it over. One of my agents, Jon, is still under with the Patriots and since Jack was found left like a practical gibbet he's gone dark and he rarely ever calls in anymore. So I'm starting to worry it might be best for him to stay that way until things die down."

"Why?" Emily raises a brow up. She may not know Martin all that well, and didn't want to sound pious or like a bigot, but she found it strange to hide any further information. The Police had a right to know and hiding it makes them look suspicious.

Martin made a sigh as he again checks to make sure no one's coming. "After the terror alert went up around here the officers lost a few of their own chasing down some suspects and they want blood." He explains to them all with paranoia still having a grip on him. "Since then the only suspect they've been interested in bringing in is Silas Odin."

"Who is Silas Odin?" Morgan asked. Martin responds "A Legend. That's Jon's cover and if I let these yahoos do things their way then we risk compromising him and if that happens he's as good as dead. Like Jack."

The more Templar explained it to them the more they comprehended the scope of his paranoia and the reason behind it to where they gradually agreed with what he says. This Jon would be vital to helping them prevent the D.C. attack.

With one last look over his shoulder Martin gets back to them. "Alright, now that we have that settled…who's going to stay here and help with the detectives, because I need someone to go check up on Sinclair; the last time we spoke he said there was something important he and his partner found but then Jack turned up dead."

"Is it important?" Aaron asks, and Martin responds "Quite possibly."

Aaron then looks over to his team members and decides who should go, and could attract less attention.

**Patriot's Pint **

They didn't know how it came to this, but Emily and David ended up being the ones sent on Hotchner's behest to meet Sinclair. Searching through this solemn hovel called the Patriot pint, with lurching tables and poorly lighted bulbs serving coarser and portly patrons, to find the man. Then Emily calls Garcia to learn up on what she found on their soon to-be coworker.

"Hey Garcia, did you find anything on Sinclair?"

Penelope was quick to respond with one of her quips before answering. "Jon Sinclair, born March 15; he's the same age as you, Em. Served in Iraq following 9/11 until 2004, since then he's worked in ATF and CIA before transferring to the FBI two years ago."

"What about a physical description?"

"That's harder—to esure their legends won't get compromised and their people stay alive, they keep most of the details on him locked away tighter than Langley—but from I've found I can say for certain he's got dark blond hair that's been cut really short and leaf green eye. He also wears a dark grey denim jacket."

Thanking her, Emily relays what she learned to David with no concern for what anyone in this establishment might hear them say. The song playing, Broken Crown by Mumford &amp; Sons rendered hearing them talk extremely difficult. Before long David sees a man matching the description Garcia gave them and motions his head. "Is that him?"

Emily quickly catches a glimpse of the figure he was motioning towards and the man was somewhat fitting the description Penelope gave her during the jape, though Garcia failed to mention his features, and this man David aimed for stood out to Emily. He was sitting in the back, nuzzled against the wall. She felt sweat trickle down her forehead as she looked at his handsome face among all these normal looking men in the heating conditions of the room.

Rossi began to snigger, seeing his friend getting red-faced. "Burning up Prentiss?"

"Stuff it," Emily said wearily and knowing where he was going with this and not in the mood for it. "Let's just get it done and talk to him."

Walking up with their personal sidearms concealed, Jon kept his back to the wall like a stone gargoyle standing stiff on Notre-Dame. "Jon Sinclair," the raven headed lurches the words without realizing what she had done before introducing herself. Rossi could not comprehend it either, as they watch him gulp down another drink, the reprehensible consequences or he would be making tsking noises at her flaw or stopping her in mid-sentence.

Jon leaned forward, motioning them to sit in an innocent posture and once they were leaning over their own seats the click of a gun was heard as Sinclair pulled down on the hammer of his SIG P229 under the table. "Now," Jon spoke said with his deceit of charm and friendliness aback. "You have ten seconds to tell me something I believe then you're riddled with so many holes that someone would think you a human swiss-cheese."

Both agents became stunned, surprise and flabbergasted while not sure which one had the gun aimed on them. "Whoa; take it easy here Hoss," Emily makes a gesture of the face and lips as Jon remained nervous about them.

"Hey, I've been hiding out here for a while now and only one person knows where I am—now here you and Mussolini show up blurting my name out. So you'll have to forgive me if I'm a little jittery about it" Jon spits at them.

"Oh joy," Rossi jibes at being compared to one of the most hated Italians in history. "We got ourselves an educated one here, Em, topped off with a little paranoia to him as well. Nice to see Martin surrounds himself with others just like him."

"Em," Jon said with a smirk before asking "Martin send you?"

"Yes—and what are you so smug about?" Emily responds. "I'm sure Jon's just a nickname for some goofy long first name that you prefer not to talk about."

With those words Jon made a slight satisfied expression of a face that would otherwise be laughing if it wasn't dedicated to being so solemn and Prentiss began to have a vivid mental image form in her mind as the hammer sound his heard again and they both witness him put his weapon away.

"Can't be too careful these days,"

In the dim light of this low rate establishment, David and Emily saw him as another one of DCO's operatives made paranoid by the career of federal espionage. Indulging in such activities has always caused trust issues and identity crises.

Meanwhile at another one of the tables an Iranian stranger watches from the shadows.

**MPDC Police Department**

Martin was instantly taking the BAU team to meet detectives Jackson and Miller who were reviewing their pictures of suspects. "BAU this is Detective Mark Jackson and Danny Miller." Templar introduces them to one another.

Aaron was hopeful that the detectives would not notice the shortage in their ranks with Prentiss and Rossi gone off to search for Sinclair at the Patriot's pint.

"I've heard all about you from your team." Jackson greeted them; knowing of the teams prospects from his friends in Los Angeles and Vegas. Miller was more distant from the team than his colleague, focused on the work at hand with the facts on paper he had to read.

"Have you got any solid leads on the Patriots yet?" Derek joins Miller. "Other than the stooges on the board here,"

"A few actually; There quite the page turner to read about,"

**Patriot's Pint**

"You don't think that was a little extreme? Aiming a weapon on two strangers," David says and his belly aching about the non-important trivial matters already gone by had Jon in an annoyed mood.

Christ does he ever shut the fuck up?" Jon looks at the female agent with a kinder demeanor than he did with the Italian. "His bitching's enough to make me to aim the gun on myself; just to spare me the misery."

Emily was less than sympathetic with Sinclair, and like David, not happy with him. She was just a little more lenient. "Don't look at me; you started this. Maybe you should try apologizing"

"That'll happen the day I get a vacation to the Bahamas and—"

Jon halted in his words—focused on one man in particular seated behind Prentiss and Rossi trying way too hard to avoid eye-contact—then he asks them "Did you bring someone else with you; another agent, perhaps?"

Prentiss and Rossi both nod their hands. It was not the answer Jon was praying for. "Fuck me," he cursed raucously why trying to cool his seething frustration. "We need to leave now."

The BAU agents give one another confused expressions before asking "Why?" Then Jon responds "Just do it. I don't have time to explain." Once they leave they go ahead to leave, the man watching stands up from his chair and staggers over to follow through the very same door and before he knew what hit him, Jon punches him unconscious.

"Hello Abdule," Emily hears him say to their new incapacitated friend before asking "You know this guy?"

Jon with a smile replies "I will in a couple of minutes. Then he's going to tell us everything he knows and why he's here. We'll figure the rest out from there."


	3. Chapter 3

**Jon's Safe-House**

Emily and David help Jon with bringing the unexpected prisoner to his safe-house, and all the while "Abdule," as Jon named him, had a sack over his head the and could be heard demanding his release.

The house had only three rooms inside of it; the empty one where Jon stored Abdule, restrained in a chair by handcuffs; the main room had one chair, one couch and a TV., It was clearly intended for the mere indulgence of relaxation and lastly there was the third room with only a bed; and to top it all the rooms had cold air.

Once the bag is off, Abdule wrenched his body in desperate attempts at freedom as Sinclair leaves him there. "I demand you release me at once, Sinclair. You have no right to detain me like this!" An insinuation that they knew one-another—contrary to what Jon told them earlier.

_Has he been lying about anything else_, Emily was silently pondering and looking at David dreading whatever Aaron had gotten them messed up in.

Putting his Sig down, Jon was casual about detaining the supposed stranger and began sifting through a backpack he kept by the bed. His whole posture was puzzling to Emily. "Is there a particular reason for locking up your house guest or do you do this to every non-fed?"

Jon was less responsive than she had thought, remaining silent like a mouse. "Oh I'm sorry, didn't think you went for that kind of thing. Feel free to join him if you want." Jon facetiously responded and left a humored expression on David and Emily flabbergasted that he would actually say that. He was glad to see that Jon was paranoid but retained some sense of humor while Jon himself did not view it as his humor, just a way of staying sane in his line of work.

Finally the reason for him performing an autopsy on the bag becomes clear when Jon pulls out two papers of it and walks over. "I'm assuming this is why Martin sent you?" Sinclair asked solemnly before extending the two pages out. "Here—you can have them. I already deciphered it and there wasn't anything helpful."

After Emily took the pages she realized one was gibberish—other than terrible poetry—and the other had the list names of locations in the city that the author was observing for possible targets to the VX. "What's this?" She handed back the poem, thinking it was some kind joke but once she saw the serious expression on his face she realized it wasn't. David soon cut in. "Is it important?"

"Oh that's right: your profilers, federal psychologists." Jon reproached them. "You prefer spending time assuming you know people than learning real skills." He was trying his best to contain animosity; the profilers could see it, but he definitely had animosity for people in their profession. "Do you at least know about ciphers?"

"An encoded word; normally you need a number or word to solve it."

"Well, the cigars go to you, raven." Jon said before handing the paper back. "One of my people, Jack, sent me this in the mail a day before we were supposed to meet. He was worried Conrad or someone inside the patriots was getting suspicious and sent it to my safe-house here. Apparently he was keeping tabs on some of the movements going on here and started looking to possible places and people who could be behind it."

David quickly looks at the names of places on the list and notices the names of people absent. "Where are the people on this list?" Jon quickly looks on the list and realizes he forgot something and reaches into the bag again. "Sorry, thought I handed it to you."

Both Emily and David scan the list of places and names while Jon walks around them for the couch. Zooming through they see the names Conrad Frost, Joseph Smith and Maggie Russell at the top of the list. Meanwhile, Jon begins to indulge on some of the drinks and food left-over from earlier today when he left. "Well don't let me detain you. Go back to your team, I'll be waiting here."

"You're not coming?" David asks and Jon indulgently drinks down a chip with some water and still calm and then David points to the room where Abdul was. "What about Him? You can't just keep him in their all day."

Jon shrugs his shoulder in a simple manner while still being candid. "I don't plan on it. Just send some officers over to get him. I'll keep an eye on him in the meantime; besides I can't legally interrogate him here."

Looking at him, Emily felt anxiety as she focused more on Jon than anything else. He had eyes and expression of close resemblance to those murders and rapists that made up her Unsubs. There was anger, hate, passion, depression, outrage, sadness, repressed joy and empathy and yet something about him made Prentiss believe he had good inside him. He showed the restraint for his impulses and compulsions that the people she arrests do not. At the same time he was cold as a lonely soul.

Most of what he did made her cautious as to what she could think of him. David in contrast treated him with a less critical eye. Sinclair was a fellow agent—a distrusting and judgmental one, but an agent none the less. However both of them found it strange for him to make that statement.

"Do you not know what's happening right now, do you?"

Jon tilts his head unevenly with an ambiguous expression, not making it easier for them to judge, and David feels a little more uncertain about him. "The police want to bring Silas Odin—you're ledged—in for questioning. There's no grantee they'll understand the situation and if you walk into the police station it could blow your cover and what happened to your friend could happen to you."

"Sounds like Martin's talk." Jon was heard muttering before David confirmed it. "So just tell them that an undercover agent caught a bad guy and they left him here. I'll be gone by the time they get here anyway."

"Where are you off to?"

"Right now, nowhere. I have to meet up with some of my marks in the morning and will be leaving early. So by the time you send someone here, I'll be out of here quicker than a bat out of hell before anyone's the wiser."

"And what if we need to pro-quo with you again?" Emily redirects his attention away from a sleeping for a short while and knew she could only hold his attention for a few minutes. Sinclair looked like he hadn't had a good night's sleep in days.

"Just right down your number on a piece of paper and I'll trade you mine for it." Surprisingly he was willing to negotiate with her on that but his terms certainly made her feel uneasy about him once more. Then she asks "Why do you want my number?"

"Didn't say it had to be yours," Jon clarified. "Why do you profilers have take everything so suggestively?"

Once again David found himself amused before handing over his own number and Jon trades his own. "Good. I'll see you or whoever you send for the next pro-quo; till then good night."

**Back at the Police Station**

The detectives were quite adamant with Aaron and the team on their findings. Silas Odin was the one they wanted to talk with the most. His suspicious presence in the Penn Station VX attack convinced them he was in on something.—that and his association with suspected members of the Patriots.

Aaron felt no nostalgia to obligate him in aiding or imbedding in Sinclair's fugitive status, but even he could see the validity to Templar's point. These were good people but they still lost some of their own and if this had been any one on his team they would be hell bent on finding the ones responsible. Not that they were all painted with the same brush. Miller was less fanatical than his fellow officers about Odin. He genuinely believes that Sinclair's legend was guilty of nothing, other than being in the wrong place in the wrong time. He wanted essentially the truth of what transpired and how it ended with the death of a police officer.

"So aside from being present during the attack on Penn Station what else do you know about Odin?" Morgan asked. Based on what the team learned on its way over, they came to a partial conclusion that the people or person responsible for this was meticulous. He did not know Sinclair personally, so comparing him to the profile was next to impossible.

"Records are scarce, so it's hard to say which are reliable and which aren't, but I guarantee you it's no coincidence him being there and here with a looming terrorist attack." Jackson affirmed his reasons being more than just plain bigotry. "Silas Odin…born in Swansea Wales with one half-brother, Joseph Constantine. Dropped out of colleague at nineteen to volunteer for Afghanistan before finally being kicked out for what I believe the polite term was bootlegging whisky, and later immigrated to the United States. He's spent the last decades in arms and art deals on the black-market."

"That's it?" Morgan almost chided the detective. "That's all you got before going after Odin?"

"Well there was the fact that he's had dealings with the terrorist cells over the years in both the United States and overseas."

Miller showed a similar disbelief. "Wasn't good enough; you could have waited before plastering his face all over the news and putting an APB on him, Jackson."

"Well sorry. I was a little busy trying to clean of this mess agent Templar and his team made." At that moment, Aaron was glad Martian had not present when he blurted that out. He placated off somewhere else.

J.J. and Reid were with him. He wanted to show them some of what his team had gathered during their two year investigation into the Patriots. He also takes them to meet his team and the local FBI counter-terrorism team.

Only one member of Counter-Terrorism was present, while most of the DCO's non-operatives were. The head of the team was usually the one to deal with cooperation with the Police and other agencies or FBI teams. The rest were regularly out on the job.

"Agents Jareau and Reid, this is the other half of my team." Only two remained one man and one woman. "Tessa Snow, field ops runner, and Daniel Jenkins, another one of our field agents," Templar introduced his people without considering they could do it themselves, but also speaking of his confederates in espionage with pride.

The last introduction being the CT leader, Steve Walker was surprisingly younger than most of the present company, though with Reid it was debatable. He was probably a year or so older than their former colleague Ashley Seaver. Yet he had the demeanor to not make anyone question his capability.

"Any news," Walker took a break to mutter his question, hardly paying the two profilers any mind, only for a simple question with no riposte he wanted to hear. Then once he heard it, Steve got back to his mental seclusion.

That was around the time J.J. felt her phone ring and it was Emily. She broke away from the discussion on some of the evidence gathered to answer it where no one could hear them talking or the sensitive topic they would discuss. "Hey Emily," She finally says. "Did you learn anything from Sinclair?"

"A little bit. Hey, J.J., do you think Detective Jackson would ask too many questions if we told him to pick up someone we caught following us?"

"Someone's following you?" J.J. sounded concerned, worried for any dangers to befall her friends. Then Emily puts the worry of her best friend at ease. "No…well…at least I don't think he was following us. Sinclair locked him up in a safe-house. We're heading back to the station now and he was pretty adamant about having us pick him up."

"Do you think he'll do something drastic if we don't?" J.J. asks and Emily responds hesitantly to the question. "I'm not sure. You should have seen this guy, J.J.; he was colder than most sociopaths we arrest. Maybe he won't, but it might be smart not to take any chances with this one."

"Okay, I'll talk to Jackson and Miller or have Hotch do it." J.J. ended the phone call.

**Jon's Safe-House**

Jon only knew the bliss of dream for a few moments. As they often do, becoming fraught with nightmares. In this one he could see himself and another marine being tortured before his friend was executed and then he awoke finding the Itallian and raven-headed agent had already left him alone in the three room complex.

The ringing of his phone woke Jon, much to his relief, and it had a message from one of his Patriot contacts: Demitri. It was a text.

_Lincoln Memorial_

_Meeting in One hour_

Jon considered getting some answers out Abdul. It had only been sixth months since he escaped justice during the investigation in Los Angeles and now he shows up here in D.C. when a looming threat is present. It couldn't be mere coincidence. He forced himself into shaking off such ideas as he recalled tha Demitri was expecting him and grabs his gun by the bed and walks out the door; looking for a car to use.

* * *

**A/N:** Glade to see a few people enjoying this story. I've found it really hard on my part, and it taking some time for each chapter. but I feel rather contempt to further it. Anyway, I'm trying to find a beta reader for the next chapters and was wondering if anyone reading would be intrested. I'm starting to look for one now and was looking for a particular one who's already read some of the chapters. If your a beta reader I would appreciate it if you left me your profile name onFanfic so I could send it to you.

Thank you and I hope enjoy the next chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

Every man is guilty of the good he did not do.  
-Voltaire

**MPDC Police Department**

Detective Jackson and Hotchner have been arguing for so long, that it was starting to feel like a debate, by the time J.J. walks in on them. She tell Spencer and Martin the story Emily relayed to her in a moment's notice. Templar allows it to be said in front of Walker, who didn't even blink. He keeps a calm composure and agrees with Prentiss, that it could be interesting to talk with this man Sinclair caught.

"Hotchner," became her opening line for breaking into the testosterone match, not entirely thought-out when she blurted it. Then Jackson is demanding to know "Who are Prentiss and Rossi?" J.J. is reluctant to elaborate, eventually Miller had enough and decided to get this new suspect himself, with Moran in tow. All so he can get away from his prickly partner.

**Inside a Building Across From the Lincoln Memorial**

Demitri Petrov feels anxious inside the abandoned building of, literally, hundreds of cubicles. In the darkness, he felt like he was waiting for someone to walk up and shoot him in the back. The only kind of protection, on him, was a Vektor Z88 that the arms dealer made sure not sell, but even the suppressed firearm could not rid him, completely, of the chill to run up and down his spine.

The building is like something out of a horror movie: dark, eerie, silent, and littered with clutters of junk that the previous occupants dumped before leaving it to the rats, mice and insects to scuttle about in the large space with their litter; the only thing missing is a silent, masked man holding a bloody knife or machete. Or a gun.

Ghoul, they call him, with no fiber of loyalty to his character. Well, Demitri may be classified as a ghoul but he's a smart ghoul. He had files from the clandestine operation: Kingslayer, something he knew Silas Odin and the Federal government would be intrigued to have.

Silas had the connections to help, so it would stand to reason that he could help. If there was ever a doubt in his mind that the Patriots have gone off the edge, by radical standards, the catastrophe at Penn Station ensured he no longer questioned it; and seeing as how Silas was there while his friend was being stalked by Conrad, he would find putting the screws to their operations splendid.

Inside, Demitri sits on a an old chair, only looking out the window for Odin's approach only to find nothing. His teeth chatter, thumping toes, and foot tapping make up the only sound to be heard in the room; with his ears listening past them and his eyes looking up and down in agitation, crouching down at every single sound like it announced the approach of something malevolent.

What's that old saying? Just cause you're paranoid dosen't mean they aren't after you? For Demitri, this overused quote has been made more truer, than ever; by the horror of Penn Station. The news reports had barely given a description, and neither did The Patriots, so he had no idea until Silas enlightened him. Going into hiding seems the most sensible option, now, but the Patriots can always find him, again. Then he heard it. The echo of a foot-step squeak to proceed a endless cacophony of similar echoes; and, suddenly, masked men swarmed his hiding hole with suppressed Mac 10's, like a plague.

**MPDC Police Department**

Night arrives around the same time as Emily and David's return. Abdul is brought in behind them. Emily was more than happy to let police man-handle the Iranian, or whatever part of the middle-east he hails from. Unlike with Sinclair, Abdul is silent—benign, but keeping a calm over him that is almost as creepy as the calculating gaze he gives everyone he passes. The police process him and detain him in an interrogation room until it was decided who would interrogate him.

"So who the fuck is this guy?" Jackson vulgarly asks. Not sure what to make of his new _guest_. "There's nothing in the system on him. None of his belongings give any indications. And most of all: he's not talking."

Derek finds the man suspicious, and how this Sinclair guy was familiar with him, intriguing. "How does Sinclair know him?" he looks to David and Emily for answers they obviously lack, based on their reactions. "How could he possibly know this 'Abdul' was tailing you?"

Shrugging their shoulders, Emily responds "I don't know what to tell you, Morgan." Genuinely at a loss for words. "He was definitely following us. The second I was out the door he shadowied us."

David follows her up by commenting "I'm grateful Sinclair did, in the first place. Who know what might have happened if he got the jump on us." while cross-examining the gun they found on Abdul.

Spencer gives some facts of what might have likely happened. "Either he'd torture you for information, hold you at gun-point, shoot you, or follow you back to where ever Sinclair was going when you caught up to him."

J.J. herself is not sure if she has an opinion here, although Spence could have restrained on the explanation, and saif said "Maybe we should just wait to hear back from Garcia before we do anything."

They agree at last. David got a couple of gazes from the team for praising this agent they have not, yet, made acquaintance with. Confused mostly. And Jackson is annoyed because he had thought all of Templar's agents had been met.

"Where is this Sinclair now?" Jackson asks, cynically. "I want to talk with him."

"You can't. Even if I knew where Jon was, I still wouldn't allow it." Templar denied the request, not much of a surprise to Rossi. He was likely looking out to protect his agent from blowback. Who could blame him? Jackson was a fanatic who only seemed interested in furthering his career or the career of whoever had him by the collar, now. "The Patriots are paranoid. If you go playing cowboy and bring him in, then the second he's finally let out, they will kill him."

"You should have thought about that before withholding information."

"I'm not risking his life and cover just so you can go fishing. This isn't West Memphis, you middle class bigot; having a badge dosen't automatically give you dominion over everyone you don't trust."

Everything was like Templar foretold at their arrival.

Martin felt vindicated in this unrequited understanding by the detective when his own partner, Miller, spoke up for him. "Jackson, Agent Templar is right. We've seen what people like them are capable of: they killed one of our officers without blinking, and they're going to release a virus in the city. Do we really want more blood on our hand?"

Jackson relents to the reason of his partner for only a second. "We'll see what the captain has to say about this. Their tech friend has an hour to find something useful, then if nothing comes of it, all bets are off." Miller is told before his partner walks out on them and back to his desk.

Then Morgan unearths his phone from the bowls of his pocket to hold. "Speak of the devil," he exclaimed to his colleagues. "It's Garcia."

**Lincoln Memorial**

_This is just ridiculous_, Jon silently thought to himself inside a "borrowed" car waiting for the floater, Demitri Petrov. In was now the hour he had to arrive by to meet and Petrov was proving a folly aspect to his night. He could have been talking to whoever called this council by now. if it wasn't for his ghoul's tardiness, or on his way back to the safe-house.

Groaning in his own agony for lack of patience, Jon thought of getting out of the car and yelling Demitri Petrov's name until he responded.

Jon was not such a bad guy. A victim of the foster system he never had only experience with the worst of people and came to the conclusion a long time ago that extreme measures are necessary for anything to get done.

The loss of his wife during the first Patriot attack certainly didn't do him any favors, just like his job of what amounts to putting on a new persona mask for every case.

Gloomily he looked at his fire arm with the span of time wasted here ever-growing; checking it with little care for anyone who might see him. Discontent for life seems to be the only emotion he feels these days. His friends and relations were bound to vanish on him eventually; then strangely he thought of those two agents. The one with dark hair had a more feisty personality than her friend.

She had her mother's looks and some of her father's personality.

In the middle of his depressed thinking a window with the shades up on the upper level across the street catches his gaze. "What the hell?" He asked before telling himself. "That whole buildings been abandoned for years now; no one should be in there."

_Could there be a sentry on me? _Jon asked himself before walking out on impulse. Damn the consequence, he was not going to have some creep spying on him the whole time he was waiting here in this dark street.

After finding the one loose door not locked shut, Jon spots trails of blood on the floor level of the clear window; his Sig drawn, not sure if continuing forward was the best course, Sinclair found the bodies of two men killed by a shot to the chest with nearby Mac 10's nearby and it looked like they got a few shots off before being hit.

"Shit," Jon curses at the sight of these bodies. "Did someone get the jump on these guys?" He recognized the men when their masks were pulled off. Both were patriots, goons doing jobs for the Founding Father that usually boils down to wet-work.

"Odin," a moan came from one rooms, Jon quickly puts on the personae of Silas Odin. "Petrov, is that you?" he calls out to his ghoul candidly concerned and putting up the façade of an American-Welsh accent. "Where are you?"

"In here," Silas followed his voice, finding Demitri Petrov in a chair with blood trickling from wounds between his chest and stomach and dropping out of his mouth. "Looks like these mooch had the upper hand this time." Putting on a façade of bravery and having his hands scrabbling the handle to his firearm, but Silas knew he didn't have much time now; there was only so much blood you could lose before it's over.

"Fuck. Demitri, you really put yourself through the ringer this time." Silas examined the wound with a look-over. "What happened here? Why did you send me a text then not show up? And more importantly why are you in a building full of dead bodies?"

"…I found these documents a couple of days ago…Jack said that he would get the mop here soon and I knew it was going to be my turn soon. Given Frost's hatred of me it seemed only natural I'd get it next. These were supposed to be my bargaining chip with the government for our safety, but I got found out."

Silas then looks to papers his ghoul was pointing at. OPERATION KINGSLAYER, the file is labeled with papers of the people who partook the activities and a picture of the members all censored with the faces crossed out by black ink. Lastly, a syringe with atropine, still inside, lay next to the documents and brings it back to him.

"Petrov, why do you have this?"

Demitri still barely clinging to life looks back with the color of his eyes fading "A time detonator was left outside so I brought this incase I was exposed to it."

"You…need to…to…get out before it's too late." And then Demitri is gone, and leaving Silas knowing this was all on him. Closing the dead man eyes, all Jon could think to say was "Sorry,"

**MPDC Police Department**

"Okay so I looked into the State-wide database with your guy's prints and got...zilch, but when I did a worldwide check I got lucky." Garcia said once Morgan gave her the go ahead. "Your guy is Imran Abdule Latif, an Iran-Pakistan national who used to work for I.S.I. before being hired by the Saudi government."

Penelope Garcia never was one for remaining calm and always acts like a hamster on coffee, but that was usually what the team loved about her.

The revelation madkes Martin nearly gasp. "Ah… that makes a little more sense." Everyone and Miller narrowed their sight on him. Garcia was even listening closely all the way back in Quantico. "Latif was a suspect Jon caught shadowing our team during a case six months ago…but the State Department forced us to release him."

"Why was he following us today?" Prentiss asks.

Martin fell at a loss for words to the bewildering question. "I don't know. Maybe he came for payback? Jon made his time in the U.S. a living hell." Emily disagreed but could see the latter happening.

"Yeah they definitely didn't look happy to see each other."

"Yeah but—" David was suddenly stopped at the start of a good question by the ring of his phone. "I'll be right back." He excused himself after recognizing the number that was accompanied by no ID.

"Hello?"

"Hey…uh…it's Rossi, right?" a male voice comes on the other end, sounding cautiously quiet and deeply disturbed.

David gave a response, still unsure of who's voice he is talking with. "I would have to say yes. Who is this?"

"Oh, I'm Patterson." The voice morphs into a sour tone with sarcasm in a instant. "Who do you think it is, Michael?" There could be no mistaking it after that. This was Agent Jon Sinclair.

"Oh, it's you. Agent Sinclair." David guesses. The response to come back is "Ding, ding. Congratulations, you won a couple wasted seconds." Jon responds and then David asks "Are you calling about anything in particular, or do enjoy playing the wise-ass game?"

"No, I need some back-up. You need to get Walker down here. I just found one of my contacts in the Patriots and he's dead. Right before he croaked, Demitri told me there's a VX bomb near the Lincoln Memorial and I think their ready to blow it."

Looking back to everyone, David says "We need to get to National Hall."


	5. Chapter 5

_Any man can overcome adversity. If you truly want to test a man's character, give him power._"

Abraham Lincoln

**Across from the Lincoln Memorial**

After calling Rossi, Jon reexamined Demitri's wounds, finding the flecks of bullet holes beneath his button up shirt. He had hoped that in learning more about what kind of bullets these people used, where they purchased them from, it could make finding the buyer much easier; it seemed practical at the time.

It felt so undignified to treat him in such a way. Demitri's status as a ghoul, sifting through graveyards like some modern Frankenstein for identities the Patriots could use in their fake identification papers, made him slightly more disturbing than most would care to admit, but Jon could remember a few good things about him. He deserved better than this.

"I'm sorry Demitri. You didn't deserved this." Jon told the corpse of a man he had been manipulating to aid in his infiltration. A cough and wheeze suddenly brought his attention to one not-so dead man before a voice spoke up. "Oh, someone put a bullet in me!" The man begged, half seriously, while removing his mask and spitting out some of the yeasty blood; finding himself bitterly alive in an agitated state of misery.

"That can be arranged, 'friend." Jon said before aiming his P229 as he came closer to the dying man while coldly staring him down with no intention of letting him leave so he could go blabbering off to his friends. "My apologies, I'm sure Demitri meant for you to be dead by now. I'll be sure to rectify it before I show myself the door."

Jon had his gun aimed to the man's face and was seconds from pulling the trigger when pleas stopped him with a moment standing between the man and death. "Wait-wait-wait-just wait one second! You don't want to kill me!"

"I don't?" Jon asked cynically, doubting it; plus a man facing death will do just about anything to survive. _Even _lie through his teeth. "Cause last I checked you killed my friend, you've seen my face and could cause more trouble than you're worth; moreover I want to. So I have more incentive to kill than I do to not kill."

"But if you do, you'll never learn where the bomb is." Those words had Jon intrigued and he lowered his weapon. "Go on," Then the grunt begins to speak. "Frost plans on dropping a gas device across the street; Then boom goes the hemorrhage fireworks."

_Frost, Conrad Frost? _Jon laminated over the name. Hearing it caused Jon's shuddering replacement of anger with fear and anxiety, and some excitement, when he thought about the possibilities. He became benign after the man finished; passively, he stared at him while contemplating what to do next. He was not surprised to hear of his old friend's involvment, given what happened to Griffin and his hand in the other attacks, but one detail still bothered him and it finally manifested into a question. "Why did you kill Demitri?"

"Word came back from the Founding Father—after that rat, Jack, got found out—that all contacts and associates of him were to be considered his conspirators; and since you were his only real associate other than Petrov we decided to kill two birds with a lot of bullets." the wounded gunman answered without any sign of remorse, only malice.

Any lenience Jon felt for the grunt was gone at that point and his captive knew it in his gut as his mellow eyes turned cold and angry. The man vainly tried to pull his weapon back up only for the quick-responsive agent to fire his gun into the skull repeatedly. It happened in a flash, and Jon had no qualms over ending his life for what he did to Demitri. Once done Jon grabbed the papers Demitri left him and walks out.

**West End of National Mall**

In the nighttime sky, a car raced through traffic like a star tracing past its fellow bright dots. The Team adequately responded to the terrorist threat, arriving less than thirty minutes thanks to Walker's driving which was, arguably, an insane. Passing through every necessary street and every car around them having horns barking loudly in outrage. "You know we can't stop the VX attack if we're killed by a crash." He could hear one of the three agents comment ironically.

"Sorry, do you not want to stop the bomb from going off?" He reproached without hesitation and the dark head of hair hardly moving an inch, refusing to take his eyes off the road.

Emily had half a mind to continue arguing where Derek began, only to remember that they need to reach the memorial and distracting him will only delay reaching it by even more time. She thought about Sinclair being there a couple of times and considered she was worried about him only to shoot it down as her concern for a fellow agent.

Derek and Aaron were more interested and concerned about the bomb than they were with Sinclair, but it didn't deter Emily from hoping for his safety. She had come with Aaron and Derek to join Walker on the ride-along seeing as how he was going to be the first on his way out and time was critical. Most of the team would be joining them on sight except for J.J. who had to stay back and help prepare a statement for the media.

It was hard to imagine how many people would still be at the memorial this late at night. A few onlookers surely remained, it could still be problematic trying to clear them out while searching for the bomb. One minute they clear them and then the next some more could show up to investigate the noise, adding to the number of possible victims.

Stopping the car solemnly in park across the memorial, Derek became first out and the first to put on his gas-mask; after all, the VX nerve agent could only kill if it gets inhaled. Steve himself gets out and prepares his Noveske Riflework Diplomat, attaching an aim point T-1 red dot, magnifier scope and laser dot sight on the top of the barrel.

"So what's the plan?" Aaron asks with him and Emily having mask in hand and readying their sidearms. Steve looked at them after examining the outside of the building, then back and said "Two take one side and the other two circle around the other half." It was a plan they all agreed to; and Derek ran off with Steve, disappearing from Emily's sight.

Walking up, Aaron showed his badge to anyone they found still on sight. The second they saw the gas masks, any bystanders left without asking too many questions concerning who or why.

Inside they only searched for a couple of seconds before one of the spectators made a comment of significance. "What, one of you guys wasn't enough." Emily turned to face them before she asked in a muffled voice "Repeat that. You saw another FBI agent?"

"Yeah, your buddy came through here, not long ago, tells us to clear out and then he was gone. Poof, vanished. He also asked if anyone had seen a bag anywhere."

"Where did he go?" they then start pointing to the opposite side of the building he says "The guy was a real creep. I could swear he had a few drops of blood on him. To be honest I thought he was a psycho." It was no joke.

Prentiss again found herself amused because of an FBI agent; though she was concerned about the suppose blood splatter. She was overall overjoyed, to realize it must have been Jon, on the inside that he was seen alive and well. Meanwhile Derek begins thanking the witness for helping their endeavors before he dismissed him to placate from the area with the rest and Aaron looked to Emily. "Prentiss, go get Sinclair. Morgan and I will clear the rest out." He instructed her before she followed the order without wavering over it.

Jon became relatively easy to locate in the big building as the sound of a fight helped her see him in a physical altercation. "Stop or I'll shoot!" Emily threatened, after her first attempt to stop the fighting, but the man Jon fought paid little mind to her or heed to the threat of her Glock which had its barrel staring at him.

Emily always considered herself a professional agent, not prone to doing anything stupid on mere impulse, but Jon's involvement brought out that side of her, and before Emily knew what was where, she was trying to break up the fight only to be disarmed and having her mask broken when she had her face thrown to the wall and finally hit the floor with a stinging headache.

Feeling the man's foot pressing on her arm, probably seeing if she was still alive, Emily watched as he looked down on her, his head tilted far to the right staring with a psychotically creepy amused look on his face; like he found something about her pitiful and funny at the same time.

Jon quickly scrambled for the weapon he dropped during the fight and fired a warning shot, hitting his foe in the shoulder. "Back away, Conrad!" He barked his orders with murderous expressions of complete anger and outrage. "You think I won't do it? Believe me, I've got no problem putting you down." He reaffirmed his threats with the iron sight trained on the forehead.

Conrad looks at Jon with his mouth open in a sinister, smilish form. "Well that touched a nerve," he suggested while backing up. "It's funny, she kinda looks like your girl." It made Jon shoot his gun one last time before Conrad backed off. "Okay, okay; take it easy, Sergeant. I can take a hint. No need to get antsy. Wouldn't want me blowing something up would you?"

While he retreats, Jon goes over to help Emily. Having all but forgotten about the bomb, coming by her side, and only thought about making sure she was not permanently injured. "You okay, Prentiss?" he questioned her and returning the gun she dropped. Taking her weapon back, Emily nods her head. "I'm fine. Thanks, Sinclair."

"It's Jon. Sinclair's my surname." he corrected her. "Come on, we still need to—" Some explosions broke any words he planned on using. One of the last things Emily saw before his back hit the ground was a syringe injecting into her skin, whispering something, and all of the sudden he was out: flopping and gasping for breath, to no avail.

When Aaron, Derek and Steve finally arrived they found was agent Prentiss trying to keep Sinclair alive. Even with what they have on them, his odds were 50-50.


	6. Chapter 6

**TV and Internet Broadcast**

A hooded figure manifested in the video with the static on the screen cleaning up in hasten process as this figure gazes to the camera through the mask of a skull cover its face to conceal the identity with protection for himself from tedious enemies to be mocked through that interval; only for the sake of radical fanaticism. Two men stand behind it holding assault rifles and wearing masked over their faces with hoodies.

This one is deemed the Founding Father. The name a cruel mockery and insult to the sacrifice of brave men and women who died for this country and the freedoms that these pricks abuse on a daily basis for personal benefit and terror.

His black hoodie was adorned by crude personal patches and symbols from Freemasonry and American culture; The most notable to stand out being a Masonic square and scale surrounding one capital G on the right breast.

"My fellow Americans, it saddens me speaking tonight in our defense. I am aware that last night within one of our most hallowed monuments, an explosive containing the VX nerve gas went off taking the lives of our countrymen. The puppeteers of the media and law enforcement would have you believe this was our handy-work but I assure you we had nothing to do with it." Founding Father pitifully tried to convey reason and empathy into his message. "What reason would there be for us to attack? How does our cause benefit from so little?"

"Those True Patriots who hear me now, stay strong; and to the non-patriots, you have two choices: either you're with us or against us. In simple terms, do your patriotic duty or join your fellow parasite friends in an exodus to leave our great country. Rest assured we will destroy you otherwise." Founding Father ended the message with phrase he used and ending of all their other broadcasts and then it ended with static.

**MPDC Police Station**

The following morning J.J. still continued recovering from the hassle of both the perpetual media conference to deliver the statement of the profile composited so far and the anxiety of friend troubles after the fiasco of the VX in the Lincoln memorial.

Thankfully none of their people were harmed but sadly ten bystanders were and Sinclair was still in critical condition at a hospital.

"This is ridiculous." J.J. raucously announced to Spencer and Jenkins across the long table, reading through some papers of letters sent to various government buildings across D.C. as they helped her read through them. "I get we need to catch these people but all of these letters seem like they were written by a hundred different people all capable enough."

Spencer responded with statistical facts of how one in five on angry threatening letters could be a probable one. If so then how many letters would be true ones out of two-hundred?

Assistance from David, Aaron or Derek would grease the wheel s to help more work completion; or even from Snow. Prentiss could not be relied on either as she had followed close behind the ambulance carrying Sinclair to the hospital last night and since then spent the past hours with the Agents and policemen protecting him until he wakes.

Walker was gone too. Off with some of his agents to examine the scene of both the bombing and the murder of Demitri.

Jenkins indulged more in reading, like Reid, to the point of amusement, in contrast to J.J. who eventually was annoyed after a time. "No worries of an argument from on that sentiment." He announced while holding one particular page changing his indulged expression with a more serious and chilled expression. "Listen to this one; I think this could be it."

'_I grow sickened by the perpetual neglect of our soldier and responsibilities owed to them and their families as you waste our funds on a war we no longer support or want anything to do with. My brothers lay dead in Baghdad because of your failures as a politician, American and representative for your people in the pissing match between the Democrats and Republicans.'_

"Blah, blah, blah; fancy colorful hating words and critique of radicals," Jenkins sifted through the letter for the other significant half of the letter.

'_If there is any justice to be sought in this abominable injustice you brought on my family and friends, you will meet it in the most horrible of circumstances that leave you breathless and/or foaming and the mouth like the dog you are with rabies.'_

J.J. and Reid looked at each other in astonishment. "That's quite a letter." She admitted with the modest of expressions. "But what makes you think that writer is the one? There've been so many more like that submitted by various people?"

"Well there's this; it came with the letter." he answered before holding up a small paper with the copied picture of Franklin's Albany plan diagram of a cut up snake with the phrase join or die written closely underneath. "Plus, I've found five more just like it all written by the same person."

Meanwhile Aaron and David had been overseeing the freshly dissected body of the ghoul, Demitri Petrov, with Martin present. Captain Roger Irons refused to allow Templar in the room after discovering he was holding out on them about Sinclair and Miller coming was the only voice of reason to keep the peace with Jackson already gone.

_What mess_…Aaron thought, looking at the body. "What did you find, Dalton?" Miller asked. He was not the only one curious to learn details of his death, just the first to speak.

Clara Dalton was the opposite to the norm of women as frail and graceful; instead she was tough and blunt with a kind of majestic beauty in her that tough women like Emily and J.J. often have. She softened up though it the presence of her fiancée. She was a dark haired brunet with hazel eyes dressed in normal corner attire.

"This was a tough old dog. He took five bullets in the legs, three in the arms and several in the central area, but the ones in and around the pancreas combined with excessive blood loss ultimately did him in." Clara said. "It looks like someone tried to apply pressure to the wound so they could save him, but it was too late at that point."

"That could've been Jon." Martin guessed.

"Or the shooters realized he was more useful alive than dead." Iron argued with him before Miller broke it up.

Aaron looked at the personal-effects of Petrov put down in a bag next to the corpse. There was only fifteen dollars in his wallet—enough for some fast-food but not much else—and a plastic watch. Aside from his clothes not much else.

"There's not much in here to kill for." David stood next to him looking over the items. Aaron agreed. "They must have wanted the file Petrov brought with him." He referred to the file on Operation Kingslayer, which they are still waiting on word from Garcia to learn about.

"Till Sinclair wakes up we'll just have to wait, or we can interrogate Abdule. No one's questioned him yet and we might have to release him if the 'no rights for enemy combatants' doesn't hold up." Irons was deadest in believing Abdule was the key, but Martin and Rossi both disagree.

"I'll go see if your other friends have anything useful."

Miller walked into the room as Jenkins was compiling some of the letters together. Each one gave the same brand of radical talk of no one right wing or left wing talk.

"Did you find something?" Miller walked in stiff with almost anxiety amounting to annoyance with the trouble Irons had been trying to start. "I swear to fucking God Jackson and Irons are becoming enough to splatter my brains out. I'm used to the prickly personalities, but, they've reached a whole new level."

Jenkins made a sniggered expression. "Welcome to our day-to-day life." He said. "Though, I think you're becoming more like the Jon of your department."

"In that case, Jon has my deepest sympathies." J.J. then handed the letters over to Miller, all of them signed by Joseph Smith.

**Sibley Memorial Hospital**

The room was quiet with Jon and Emily asleep, in separate places, with Sinclair on a single bed and Prentiss in a chair nearby. Presumably he would awaken at some point but Emily could not bring herself to leave out of misplaced feelings of guilt. He risked his life to save her after all, and now remains in a state of purgatory.

Derek and Tessa both patrolled through the halls with Aaron and David keeping them updated, but Emily could only be bothered to worry about Jon.

One thing other than them in the room was a book Snow left for Jon to read while he waited to be released, but Emily highly doubted the first thing he wanted to do was reading Lovecraft after recovering from a nerve agent.

"Ugh…" Jon stirred in his sleep and his eyes peaked open to see Emily, leaning back in a chair fast asleep; so far gone that he could have walked out without her noticing. "Well aren't you a sleeping beauty." He joked before trying to get out of bed only to be stopped by the handcuff shackling to the bed.

"Wake up, Goldilocks," He gently shakes his bed only to have Emily stir without any hint of her eyes opening. "And they call me a sleepy head." Jon gave up after seeing she would not quit her dreams.

As he begins to leave her alone, Emily finally decides to grace him with her attention. "Oh, Sinclair, you're finally up." He never failed to stay far from her attentive gaze.

"Same to you, sleepy head," he looked around then at the door, scanning his surroundings. "Where are we anyway? The last thing I remember was hitting the ground at the memorial and…after that it's a blank."

"Sibley hospital," Emily was surprised he remembered all that, but not about the gas, and explained. "You were exposed to the gas. The doctors say it's a miracle you're still alive and not being prepared for a box."

"Oh, that's right; I took the gas saving your ass." Jon spoke with little seriousness or rasping tone. And still, Emily felt like it was only natural to repay the rude "witty" comment with a witty comment of her own. "Well, nice to see the gas hasn't affected your brain or that thing you call a personality."

"Wow, a female agent with an attitude. Don't see those anymore." Solemnly he put a hand on his belly with it growling so loudly even Emily could hear it rumble a loud yell. "Do you know where I can find some food in this place?"

"There's a mess hall down the hall, on the right."

Jon again tried to get up only for the restraint to stop him. "Okay, I can appreciate everyone has their own kink—but I never agreed to it. Un-cuff me, please."

Emily hid a smile before saying "Okay, one: I didn't put those handcuffs on you; and two: I'll give you points for attempting some kind of manners, but I don't have the key."

Jon then looks back to where some of his things were placed. "There's a folder pin in my wallet. Can you hand it to me?" he asked before Emily, humoring him, tosses him the wallet. It only took him one attempt to free himself.

"Looks like all that time in the circus paid off." Emily jested with him, and Jon in his own jest responded "I might be from the circus, but you're the one baby-sitting."

Not much time stood between them before Jon was out the door with Emily shadowing him.


End file.
